I Want My Innocence Back
by SabaceanBabe
Summary: Finnick survived the mutt attack in the sewers and the end of the war. And now, he has the opportunity for a little chat with President Snow...


"I never thought I'd see this day." Finnick drinks in the sight before him and it leaves him shaking.

The monster in control of his life since they pulled him from the arena a million years ago sits awaiting execution in his own desk chair like it's a throne; velvet and mahogany, only the rough ropes that hold his wrists look out of place. From where he stands, Finnick sees that they're too tight, cutting off the man's circulation, leaving his hands bone white.

Finnick smiles and steps into the room, closes the door behind him.

"Ah, Finnick, my boy," Coriolanus Snow says with an answering smile. "You're looking… thinner. Haven't they been feeding you in District 13? Such a shame."

Stopping in front of the author of at least half his nightmares, Finnick says, "You, Mr. President, look… smaller." He crouches in front of Snow and all he smells is blood, nothing of roses. There's a red-brown stain in the man's full, cracked lips, dark and baggy circles under his watery blue eyes and age spots on his skin. "It looks like your prep team is no longer up to the challenge."

Snow's gaze flickers away from Finnick's for a beat, toward a glass of water that sits on a table. If he weren't tied to the chair, it would be easily within his reach.

"Thirsty?" Finnick asks, curious.

Snow opens his mouth to say something, but his words dissolve into a brief coughing fit, the sound wet and uncomfortable. There is a streak of blood on his chin when it's over. "Water would be good, if you'd be so kind…" He sounds like an old man, like someone Finnick might meet on the streets.

"Really? Did you think I was offering?" Finnick laughs, the sound harsh and a little unhinged. "After all you've taken from me over the years, did you honestly think I would give you anything?" Finnick stands, unable to bear such close proximity to Snow, even if the stench of roses is no longer there.

"You wanted for nothing."

Again, Finnick laughs. "That's one interpretation." He doesn't even think about it when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the frayed piece of rope, begins to work knots that have slipped into muscle memory, he's done them so often these past few months.

Snow smiles, an ugly and broken thing. There is blood between his teeth, limning them in red, outlining his gums in crimson and Finnick shudders. "What do you want, beautiful boy? Did you come here simply to see me brought low?"

Still working knots, Finnick circles Snow. He can't stop moving; if he stops moving, he might shatter. "What I want, you can't give me." He circles and circles, his gaze fixed on Snow, the white hair, the mottled skin absent makeup, the dark suit with a perfect white rosebud in the lapel. He stops in front of him, looks down. "I want my innocence back. Mine and Annie's and Johanna's and Katniss' and Peeta's. I want the lives you've stolen from us and from all the other innocents you've harmed." He leans down, his hands heavy on Snow's wrists and whispers, "I want my pride, my self-respect back, but I'll settle for your miserable life."

Plucking the rosebud from the man's lapel, he sniffs it, gags on the natural, delicate scent, so unlike the ones Snow used to wear. Finnick crushes it and drops it into the water glass along with the packet of powder he holds in the palm of his hand. Lifting the glass, he swirls it around, watches the fine particles dissolve before turning back to Snow.

The former president of Panem smiles at Finnick. "I didn't think you'd have the balls to do it."

"You are a cancer, old man, spreading your poison to everything you touch, and you never did understand me." He holds the glass to Snow's lips. "Drink it."

With only the slightest hesitation, Snow drinks. "Don't you trust your 'girl on fire' to shoot straight?"

Finnick sets the empty glass on the table and crouches in front of Snow once more, pushes the ends of the well-worked rope into place on his lapel. "I trust Katniss to send her arrow wherever she chooses, but I don't trust Coin and her cronies to allow that target to be you." He straightens the knot-work rose, a soiled white. "There's no antidote this time. You'll either die by arrow or by poison, but either way, you'll be dead. It's not necessarily what I want, but it'll do."


End file.
